A Visit to Molly's
by ZeeIternity
Summary: *SEASON 4 SPOILERS* Set after the season 4 finale. Sherlock visits Molly to apologise for the phone call. Sherlock realises what he said may not have been a lie. Sherlolly one-shot, (Slightly OOC Sherlock POV)


Eurus had destroyed a lot of things, but this was one thing I was not going to let her get away with. I approached the front door hesitantly, giving myself plenty of opportunity to back away. But I didn't, and I knew I wouldn't. From the moment I left 221B Baker Street I knew what was going to happen. I rapped a leather-clad hand on the heavy, wooden door and waited. I heard shuffling from inside the house and I took a steadying breath. The door opened.

'Sherlock?' Molly Hooper's confused eyes met mine. She was wearing an apron over another ridiculous brightly coloured striped jumper. She blushed and glanced down, remembering our last conversation.

'I think we should talk, Molly.' My voice wasn't as strong as usual. She just about managed a nod before opening the door to me. As I walked inside a delicious scent wafted from the kitchen. I recognised the room from the CCTV camera Eurus had set up, and I shuddered. Molly returned to the stove momentarily, before she rounded on me.

'Well, go on then. Talk.' She practically snapped. Her attempted casual demeanour didn't go unnoticed by me. She had one hand on the countertop, the other on her hip, in the same stance a mother would be in when demanding an explanation from their mischievous child.

'I came to clarify a few things.' I took off my gloves and placed them on the table, and then turned my attention to taking off my coat and placing it on the back of a chair. I dared to glance at her. Her lips were set in a thin line, her brows deeply furrowed.

I launched into telling her the story of what had happened that day, all the while intently watching her reactions. Pain and anger flashed across her features, and I felt something pang in my chest, a foreign, unusual feeling. I was stopped mid-speech as I noticed something behind her.

'Uh, Molly, your pasta is boiling over.' Molly gasped and turned to her saucepan, frantically.

'Ouch.' She recoiled as she burnt her hand. I was at her side in an instant.

'Let me see.' I demanded, going to grasp her tiny hand,

'I'm fine. I am a doctor, you know' She retorted, pushing passed me to get to the sink. She let out a ragged breath as the cold water rushed over her hand. I returned to her stove, checking on her food.

'A doctor of dead people, Molly. Not really useful when it comes to those who are still living.' It was a joke, no different to the other jabs I deal out to people on a daily basis, but her angry huff told me that now was not the time. I stir a wooden spoon in the saucepan.

'It's salvageable." I muttered, adjusting the temperature and adding pinches of salt until the water ceased to bubble.

'My dinner or our friendship, Sherlock?' Molly asked, I turned to find her stood with her arms crossed, staring me down.

'I was referring to the pasta, but I do believe we can save our relationship, too. If that's what you want, Molly. It's what I want.' She looked conflicted, as though she wasn't sure whether to call it a day or not right there and then.

'You never finished telling me what happened.' She took over the stirring, and I gave her some space.

'Those three minutes, they were the longest three minutes of my life – the most heart-breaking.' She scoffed at that,

'I thought you didn't have a heart, Sherlock.' I saw her eyebrow lift slightly as she goaded me.

'Molly, please. I know what you think of me, what I've told you about myself and how I work, but those three minutes awoke something in me that I hadn't deemed possible. I cared. I knew I was hurting you and that hurt me. I cared about you and I still care.' She drained the pasta in the sink, I could see she was listening intently. 'I wasn't lying, you know.' That stopped her in her tracks.

'You're a cruel man, Sherlock Holmes.' Her stand-offish demeanour changed in an instant, her shoulders slouched and a frown adorned her mouth. There it was again, the notion in my chest.

'It's true, I realise that now. I'm not sure in what capacity, but I've come to the conclusion that I do, in fact, love you.' Molly looked uneasy. Then suddenly she dumped the pasta onto her plate and stalked over to me, enveloping me in a tight hug. I didn't resist it, I revelled in it. I took the small woman in my arms and held her for as long as she would let me, which unfortunately wasn't too long. Silently she took her plate to the dinner table and sat down.

'I'm going to make a cup of tea, would you like one?' I asked her. She shook her head.

'The sugar is in—' she turned and pouted when she spotted that I had already deduced what cupboards she kept everything in. 'Of course you know where everything is.' She turned back to her dinner.

Once I had made my tea I joined her at the table, taking deliberately long sips out of an alarmingly patterned mug, to fill the lull in the conversation.

'I'm not sure what you thought you were going to achieve today, Sherlock.' Molly began, 'But you should know that knowing the context now doesn't make what you did any less painful.' At the utterance of the word "context" I cringed.

'I know, I'm sorry. For everything.' I placed my hand on hers. I felt her fingers tense under my own, but she didn't pull away. She sat perfectly still.

'I forgive you.' She whispered, her fork toying with the bits of pasta on her plate.

'I don't deserve it. I can never give you what you want.' My fingers deftly, absentmindedly stroked her hand.

'What exactly do you think I want, Sherlock?' She gave me hard look,

'You want to get married and have kids. You want a normal, quiet life and you want to share it with someone who has the capability of loving you as much as you love them.' She nodded,

'True, but there's something I want more than that.' She turned the hand under my palm and wove her fingers through mine, grasping my hand tightly. 'I want you, Sherlock Holmes.' My brain whirred at her statement. I knew we were venturing into dangerous territory, but I didn't care.

'And I want you to be happy.' I squeezed her hand. Taking this as confirmation, she leaned over tentatively. I had to let her make the first move, I had to resist the sudden urge to taste her soft lips. To do right by her, I had to let her make her mind up for herself. I watched her eyes flutter shut as she approached me, and I let my own lids drift closed. Her mouth connected with mine in a move so swift and sweet I was taken aback. Her hands came to my cheeks, and she stroked my cheekbones tenderly as her lips continued to move against mine.

When she stopped, her soft laugh brought me back, I opened my eyes to see her smiling.

'I've wanted to do that for so long.' She stated, in disbelieving tone,

'Then why don't you do it again?' I asked.

It was as though my question had flipped a switch in her. She leapt into my arms, her fingertips dived into my hair and her mouth collided with mine. I found myself at her mercy as this animal overwhelmed her. The line between doing whatever made Molly happy and enjoying myself blurred somewhat as I felt my body take on a life of its own. Of course, I'd been intimate with others before, Janine had practically ripped off my clothes at every chance she got, but this was the first time I'd kissed someone because I wanted to, there was no ulterior motive with Molly. I couldn't do that to her, she was too innocent, too kind.

My hands explored her body, I rose from my chair, pulling her in as close to me as I could. I backed her into the counter, trapping her in my embrace. Our mouths moved deftly against one another, causing her to moan softly. The noise she emitted made me dizzy. My tongue investigated her mouth with fervour. Her hands grabbed my shoulders.

'Sherlock.' She murmured, her breath hot against me. I shushed her, not wanting anything to stop what was happening, I grabbed her waist as gently as my heated body would allow and propped her on top of the counter, only permitting our kisses to be interrupted momentarily. My body swam in between her thighs. She had to pry my face from hers.

'Sherlock.' She repeated. Our breaths were both shallow and laboured. I let my head drop onto her shoulder, my nose at her neck, I could smell a sweet, floral scent. It did nothing to slow my heart rate. Molly wrapped her arms around me, trying to regain her breath.

'How did you make me feel like that?' I asked, not expecting an answer. She seemed somewhat confused by my question.

'I don't know.' She smiles. Her deft fingers guide my jaw to hers once more as she planted another kiss to my lips. It was chaste, and I devoured as much of it as I could, but it was all over too soon. I wonder if my reaction had given her a new sense of boldness, her shy countenance completely evaporated into thin air. I am aware of a distant buzzing that pulls me back into reality. I groan loudly in frustration.

'Trust Greg to ruin the moment.' I ambled over to my coat, retrieving my phone. Molly knew better than to ask how I know it's Lestrade.

'Wait, did you just call him Greg.' She asked, under her breath as I answered the call. As suspected, Lestrade had a new case he needed my help on. I hastily ended the call and put my coat on.

'Are you coming?' I asked. Molly pondered,

'What's the case?' She took off her apron, placing it on the countertop.

'Suspected double homicide covered up as a suicide pact. Shouldn't take more than forty-five minutes.' I tied my scarf around my neck.

'Yeah, go on then.' She said with a grin. As we left the house and hailed a cab I realised I would have to keep my hands to myself, which proved to be one of the hardest challenges I've ever had to face, and probably would ever face.


End file.
